


Don't Go (Don't Say That You Have To)

by pentaghastly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Parting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentaghastly/pseuds/pentaghastly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning Jon Snow leaves for The Wall, snowflakes are falling from the sky.</p>
<p>(A final goodbye, a beginning and an end, a start and a finish)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go (Don't Say That You Have To)

**Author's Note:**

> Super short, I know, but I was mega bored and a Jon/Robb ficlet was what I needed to entertain myself XD kudos/comments are always appreciated xx

The morning Jon Snow leaves for The Wall, snowflakes are falling from the sky.

He will see enough snow where he is going to last him a lifetime, he thinks, but there is something about the way his father’s castle -- _Robb’s_ castle now, he supposes -- looks, covered in a white blanket, that is unlike anything he shall ever see again. It looks like home, although it will not be his home anymore, not after today. His home will be a frozen wasteland, and island of ice and cold, and he thinks that he must cherish this last morning more than anything. 

His brothers and sisters will not be bright-eyes youths, ones with dreams and hopes and futures, ones who will have children and raise families and live on forever in songs and stories and memories. They will be men, rapists and murderers and thieves. Jon isn’t naive -- he knows that not all men in the Night’s Watch will be like Uncle Benjen, not by a long shot. He will live with the shit of the the world, the worst of the worst, and they will be the ones who he calls his family. Not Sansa, not Bran, not Rickon, not Arya, not Robb.

_Robb._

But he can scarce think of that now, for already there are tears running down his cheeks, freezing in the early morning cold as he stands in the yard, watching the snow fall, melting almost as soon as it touches the ground. 

_Home,_ he thinks, and that will be the word he misses the most.

xx

Although he thinks he must, Jon doesn’t enter the hall to break his fast. Lady Catelyn might see it as an insult, anyways, the bastard boy dining in the same room where the King and Queen would sit, so he wanders the stone corridors of Winterfell with a heavy hearting, thinking, remembering.

He remembers the times he played hide-and-seek with Arya and Robb when they were younger, his little sister completely unaware of what they were doing but enjoying herself al the same. He remembers the time he and Robb played a prank on Sansa, Robb dragging her down to the crypts while Jon pretended to be a ghost, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He also remembers how furious Lady Catelyn had been at them ( _him,_ mostly) for frightening her daughter, and how their father had remained silent the entire time, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

Mostly he just remembers Robb, _his_ Robb, his brother. He remembers their time spent together, how they would play games in the godswood, splash in the pond, race each other on horseback. Robb never treated him as an outsider, never looked at him as if he were anything other than a Stark. 

_“You are my brother, Jon,”_ he would say, light dancing in his crystal blue eyes, the eyes Jon had always envied, so much brighter, so much more alive than his own. _“Regardless of blood, you are my brother,”_

And so it had been, and so it would always be, until today.

Until Jon left. Until he had a new home. Until he had new brothers.

xx

“A word for your brother before you leave, Snow?”

The voice is warm and sweet and familiar, and before Jon turns he knows that Robb will be standing behind him, smiling. His hair is messy and there are snowflakes melting in it, in the beard that he is trying to grow as well, and he thinks that despite his new Lordship, his brother still looks half a child. 

They walk for a while together in silence, wandering out to the godswood where they had played together all those years ago. It is quiet, save for the wind blowing through the leaves, and despite what he had thought, despite the smile on Robb’s face, he has the feeling that this is not to be a happy talk.

So they sit on a fallen log in the middle of the woods, and he simply waits for his brother to begin.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Jon,” he says, voice quiet and thick with an emotion that he cannot name. Betrayal, he thinks. Hurt, regret, guilt, sorrow -- all of these things mixed into one, and it is such a heartbreaking sound that Jon wishes he could simply make him stop, make all of it stop. But Robb is continuing before he can try, and now there is nothing to do but listen. “Do you know how I found out? Sansa. _Sansa_ knew you were leaving before I did. Why didn’t you tell me?”

And it’s such a simple question, but Jon finds he cannot think of an answer.

Why _didn’t_ he tell him? There were countless reasons, of course, but he thinks that if he says them out loud they will not have the same meaning as they do in his head. He didn’t tell him because he loved him, because he meant the most to him of anyone, because he thought that if he told him, there might be a chance that he would change his mind. 

He didn’t tell him because he was terrified that if he did, Robb would hate him forever.

Childish fears, they all were. Soon-to-be a man of the Night’s Watch, and he cannot even tell his brother that he is leaving? It wasn’t as if he was afraid of Robb, for he wasn’t, could never be. He was afraid of _losing_ Robb, afraid of having to face up to the reality that when he left, his brother would be gone to him forever. He could visit, yes, but not for years, and not as a family member, but as a distant friend, an ancient companion whom had once been called ‘brother’. He could not return as a Stark, but only as a Snow, as a bastard with no blood in him but the blood of the North, the blood of winter.

“Because if I told you,” he says, hands shaking, eyes down (he finds he cannot even fathom having to meet Robb’s gaze, not for this). “Then it would all be real. As soon as you knew, I knew that everything would be over for good.”

And when Robb looks at him, tears in his eyes, eyes the color of the pond, the color of hope and love and beauty and everything that is good and right in the world, he knows that he understands.

And when their lips brush together, gentle, not rough, not demanding or strong, but sweet and inviting and kind, he knows that this is not goodbye, not forever. This is the beginning and the end, the start and the finish, and he is not afraid, doesn’t think he can be afraid ever again. Not after this, not anymore.

And when Robb says, “I love you, Jon,” he knows.

xx

“Farewell, Snow.”

“And you, Stark.”

Jon simply looks at him for a moment, looks at face he has always envied, the eyes that he has always gazed upon and wish were his own, so clear and blue and full of truth. He looks upon his face and sees home, the home that he leaves behind, sees his brother and his love and his friend, sees all that he has missed without even knowing he has missed it. He sees the end and the beginning, the lies and the truth, sees everything he loves and everything he hates all at once, and he finds that he cannot handle it any more.

So they pull each other into a hug, a hug so tight it is as if they are trying to fuse their bodies together into one so that neither of them have to leave, neither of them have to grow up and say goodbye. 

“Don’t go,” he hears Robb whisper into his ear, a final desperate plea, a final attempt at bringing an end to the inevitable.

“I have to,” Jon replies, and with that, he thinks the end has come.

xx


End file.
